


The Jukebox Incident

by atimelyend



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Depression, F/M, Mention of Death, Smut, Suicidal Thoughts, mention of suicide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-31
Updated: 2014-08-31
Packaged: 2018-02-15 15:07:01
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,988
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2233524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/atimelyend/pseuds/atimelyend
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After losing her son, the reader joins the boys on the road, all the while struggling to keep her head above water.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Jukebox Incident

She slipped off the gaudy ring and laid it in the palm of her other hand. She had told him six years ago, when he’d asked her to marry him, that it was too big. How could she be expected to wear that every day? The stupid rock was constantly catching on things.

She was always catching it in the baby’s blankets. But, she supposed that didn’t matter anymore. Her sweet Joey was gone. She squeezed the ring in her fist before slinging it as hard as she could through the open window. Mothers shouldn’t bury their babies. And babies should get the chance to learn to walk and talk before their lives were snatched. And husbands were supposed to love their wives as much as their money, especially if she was beyond heartbroken.

But things didn’t always go as they should. So today, she was taking matters into her own hands. Things were going to start going her way. She picked up the last of her Louis Vuitton luggage and slung it over her shoulder. She felt in her pocket for the keys of the sleek black Mercedes that held the rest of her bags.

That afternoon, she pulled up to the roadside motel and looked around thinking it was odd for a couple of “FBI agents” to stay there. She shrugged it off. She wasn’t sure who they were, not really, but they were the only ones who had believed her story. Everyone else had told her she was crazy with grief. There hadn’t been a black eyed woman in her baby’s room that night. It was SIDS. There was no explaining it.

She felt severely out of place as her heels clicked along the cracked sidewalk. This was a far cry from the sort of places she had been raised around. She halted in front of the correct door and drew in a deep breath. Her knuckles rapped sharply on the door. When it swung open she pushed past the towering men before turning back to face them. She gave them a once-over, from their bewildered expressions to their rumpled clearly-not-FBI-standard clothes. She pursed her lips and raised just one perfectly arched brow. She was probably in over her head but at this point she didn’t care. “I want in.”  
—————————-

It had been nearly four years now. She’d been on the road with the Winchesters since she left her husband and while everyday was a step closer to her baby’s murderer, some days it felt as if they’d never find her. Today was one of those.

She waited, sprawled across a leather chaise in the executive suite she’d rented for herself once this month’s alimony check had cleared. Normally, she bunked with the boys in motels similar to the one she’d found them in that day. She was used to a more humble life now. But, today she had needed to be alone.

Today, Joseph Austin Andrews would have been five. She should have been telling caterers where to set up, not alone clutching a worn out picture of his first day home from the hospital. She wondered what her life would be like if that demon had never appeared in the nursery that night. She’d probably still be miserable. She’d still be married to the son of her parents’ country club buddies. She’d still be begging for his attention and only getting a new Tiffany necklace in return. But she’d have Joey. She could have dealt with anything if she had just been able to keep her Joey.

She felt old today. She wasn’t yet thirty but she knew that didn’t matter. Engaged at 19, married by 22, a baby at 23, only to have him snatched away before 25. She guessed she’d done her share of living. And the hard lifestyle of hunting hadn’t done her any favors.

There was a soft knock on the door and she snapped out of her reverie and got up to let them in. She hiked her jeans up by the belt loops, cursing as the loose material tried to escape her. The day she had started her life over she had been a healthy size 12, all soft curves and sexuality. Now, she had no idea what size these pants were but they bagged around her in the most unflattering way. They slipped below her now protruding hip bones and she gave up, electing to pull her tank top down over them. Unfortunately, she had still yet to master doing her own laundry, and the shrunken material bounced back up.

She was careful not to look at the mirror as she reached for the door. She knew what she’d see. Wild frizzy hair, falling over darkly circled eyes that were sunken into a pale face. Hand resting on the knob, she peeked through the peep hole before opening it. They each kissed the top of her head as they walked in.

"That was fast," she croaked, she cleared her throat after speaking for the first time all day. They had been out looking for leads in town. A task she was generally left out of. She was just too emotionally unstable, tended to get aggressive and somehow civilians didn’t like that.

They three of them sat around the table of the suite’s full kitchen, while the boys admired their surroundings. It was Sam who answered, “Yea, well no one seems to know anything. I really don’t think she’s been here.”

She scowled at that. “You guys just aren’t being pushy enough. You have to let them know who’s in charge and-“

Dean scoffed and mumbled, “Yea, cause that always works so well for you.”

Ignoring the remark, she took a long swig of the Johnnie bottle that was on the table before offering them both a glass. Sam, of course, refused as he opened a heavy book on the table. Dean nodded vigorously, even adding a “please”, always excited when she was feeling generous with the Gold Label.

They sat around the table in comfortable silence until the bottle was empty. She clutched the glass tightly still, shaking around the chilling stones that had long ago lost their ‘chill.’ Dean pushed himself out of his seat with both hands flat on the table. His sudden action caused his dozing brother to jerk out of his nap but she just stared at him, wide eyed, until he spoke, “It’s still early. Bar?”

The reactions from her and Sam were predictable again. She shrugged lazily and his brother declined. Her eyes shifted over to Sam, “You can hang out in here then. No point in going all the way across town to your shithole.” Her unwarranted rudeness earned her a trademark Bitch Face from him but he was already making his way to king sized bed in the connecting room. Dean passed her on his way to grab his jacket and she caught his arm. He was surprised to look down and see her looking uncomfortable. “Dean… do I look okay? Should I change before we go? I don’t think I even own a hair brush anymore…”

He was even more shocked by her question. She had never been much to care about… well, anything. Especially not how she looked. She was being particularly weird tonight. He smiled gently, “You look fine. You know you’re smokin’ hot.” He winked playfully and helped her to her feet. He followed her out of the room and watched her as she lead the way down to the lobby. Sure, she was still so so beautiful but he worried. He guessed she’d lost over well over 50 pounds since they’d met. There was never a time when she didn’t look tired and he knew first hand that it was due to night terrors she still suffered from. Sometimes, he thought she was even more damaged than he was. It wasn’t too far-fetched, she’d had a lot farther to fall.

He wished he knew what to do for her. But, he didn’t so he just watched her. Watched to make sure she remembered to eat. To make sure her drinking didn’t surpass his own. To make sure that she slept occasionally, even if it meant squeezing her in one bed between him and his brother.

She had seemed like a pain when she had first started tagging along. He had thought her high-maintenance and clueless and in some ways she was. But she had been a quick learner, graduating quickly from strictly research to manning a sawed-off for hunts. So what if she needed a little looking after? They all did sometimes.

When the valet brought the Range Rover around front he took the keys and assumed the spot behind the wheel, knowing she preferred him to drive. He had rolled his eyes when she had traded in the Benz for this ‘more practical’ ride but he couldn’t deny that he enjoyed driving the luxury cars on occasion. They drove off, again in comfortable silence. Though they were becoming less frequent, she had these quiet days pretty often.

When they had made it across town, she didn’t question it when Dean parked in front of his sleazy motel across from the bar. She planned on them both being too blitzed to drive back and he knew it. They stepped out into the cool, damp air and shut their doors in unison. Stepping around the back of the SUV, she gave him a halfhearted grin that didn’t quite reach her eyes. “You would think we practice that, or something.”

He chuckled and threw an arm around her shoulders, walking her across the street. He had long ago giving up the money argument and let her pay their cover into the bar. Well, Austin Andrews, CEO was paying but whatever. He couldn’t help but hold her ex partially responsible for her mental state so he had no qualms about spending his money. The bar was dead even for a Tuesday so the gray haired bartender greeted the immediately.

She ordered for the both of them, “Six shots of the oldest whisky you have. And he’ll take a beer with his half.”

He let a corner of his mouth turn up. Things like letting him drive her hundred thousand dollar car and remembering his order in the bar were her way of taking care of him and he was okay with that.

She downed her three shots when they arrive and order another round before the bartender could even turn away. He watched her carefully. Once the old man had left her shots on the bar and left, he spoke up. “So, You, uh- You wanna talk about it?”

She slammed a shot glass back onto the counter and picked up another one. “Not really.” She tipped back the shot she had to her lips and sighed, “It’s his birthday, you know.”

Oh. Oh. Dean silently worked the math in his head, “He’d be five?” The nod she gave could have easily been mistaken for just a twitch. “Five is a big birthday. I bet he’s having a kick ass time in his heaven right now.”

She rolled her eyes at his attempt. It was sweet of him to try and make her feel better. She leaned her head on his shoulder and stared down at her final shot. Knowing there wasn’t much left to say, he wrapped an arm around her waist and just let her rest. Somewhere in the bar a jukebox kicked to life and he felt her tense. “You’ve got to be fucking kidding me…” He looked down at her questioningly as the opening notes of “Simple Man” rang through the dive. “I used to sing this to him at night.”

"You sang Skynyrd to a baby?" He tried to joke but she remained still, muscles visibly rigid.

"It’s a soothing song. And, it’s what I wanted for him…" He voice was flat.

He nodded thoughtfully at that and the song played on. They sat together, somewhat peacefully, and even though he knew she was hurting he couldn’t help but take pleasure in having her so close to him. Halfway through the song, he tentatively began to rub her side. Suddenly, just as Van Zant claimed “Oh, yes, I will” she jerked from his grip as if he’d burnt her. She stomped toward the back of the place and he scrambled for her wallet to settle the tab, knowing whatever was about to happen wouldn’t be good.

He trotted after her but broke into a full run once he spotted her. She was stalking steadily towards the jukebox, .45 trained on the ancient thing, the few occupants of the room clamoring to get out of her way.

“DON’T-” but he was too late. A deafening ‘bang’ filled the bar and shards of glass ricocheted off some nearby pool tables. Having nearly twenty years of experience on her, he quickly restrained her and spun her around, giving her a hard shake. “What in the FUCK!?”

Her face crumpled under his hard glare and she handed him the gun as if she didn’t want it anymore. He quickly shoved it into his jacket before dragging her out of the bar, a bruising grip on her thin arm. The patrons of the bar were slowly beginning to crawl out of their hiding places so he tucked her face into him as he dragged her out, hoping they wouldn’t get a good look at her. As they rushed across the street to the motel he could still hear the song skipping from the mangled jukebox.

He glanced over his shoulder and shoved her into the motel room. She tripped on the threadbare hem of her jeans but caught herself on the unmade bed. He felt guilty for his rough treatment but the severity of what she’d done kept him from apologizing. He leaned against the wall, arms folded over his chest as he fumed. He stayed quiet, knowing that if he spoke to her right now it would come out a lot louder than necessary. The last thing they needed right now was the cops called by a sleeping neighbor.

She sat on the edge of the bed, eyes downcast, letting a steady stream of silent tears run unchecked down her face. This was not their usual easy silence. After a while, sitting under his glare became too much and she started, “Dean, I-” but once the seal in the room was broken Dean’s voice flooded the room.

"Are you fucking crazy? You could have really hurt someone back there! Or someone could have called the cops! Gonna be pretty hard to track down your demon friend, locked up, huh?! What is wrong with you? You’re upset, I get that but Jesus Christ!" She remained silent as he plowed on, voice just short of yelling.

"I’m sorry…" she mumbled. She was coming down from the adrenaline of her rampage and she was starting to feel the effects of the booze. The sheets ‘puffed’ softly as she fell back against them, head swimming. He watched her and ran a hand roughly over his eyes. He could stand here yelling at her until he was blue in the face. She wasn’t listening.

He tried for reason. He trudged over to the bed and let himself fall onto his back next to her. He turned his head to face her but she was studying the cracks in the stained ceiling. He sighed dramatically, catching her attention, “Why do you do this?”

She looked at him out of the corner of her eyes but flicked her eyes back to the cracks. “Do what? Lay here? I’m tired, Dean. It has to be after-“

"You know what I mean,” he interrupted.

She shifted uncomfortably in the bed. Dean was usually her ally in this. He was the one who would sit quietly with her when she needed and the one who matched her drink for drink so why was he getting all philosophical now? There was a bitter edge in her voice when she questioned him back. “What do you want me to say, Dean? That I still feel like I’m drowning a good portion of the time? That this is all pointless? That every once in a while, I can’t help but think it’d be okay to just end it all and be with Joseph?” She paused and looked over at his overwrought expression. “Stop looking at me like that, Winchester. You know I’d never but that doesn’t mean I didn’t think about it. Especially that second year…”

He closed his eyes and breathed deeply, not wanting to think about that. He reached over and grabbed her hand. Lacing his fingers with hers he gave it a squeeze.

“I’m sorry for yelling at you,” he offered softly.

“Yea? Well, I’m sorry for being a lunatic,” she apologized with a sigh that could almost be considered a chuckle.

They lay there without speaking for a long while. Her breathing was starting to deepen but the gears in his head were turning hard. It had upset him to hear her talk like that but he believed her. He knew she still had a long way to go, hell, she’d probably never be completely alright, but it was a relief to hear her say it out loud.

He gave her hand another squeeze and she turned lazily to look at him. “You know, I would have been devastated…”

“What are you talking about now, Winchester?”

“If you had- Well, you know. I would have been fuckin’ devastated. I don’t even think that’s a strong enough word…”

She scooted closer to him and laid her head on his shoulder. He loved having her so close, even if her bones were sharp, her shoulder digging into his ribcage. He untangled their hands and wrapped an arm around her pulling her closer to him on the bed. He pressed his face into the top of her head, breathing in the smell of the professional shampoo she still lugged around. She curled against him.

Whether it was the booze talking or her cuddly demeanor, he’d never know, but he brushed a kiss into her hair and whispered, “I love you.”

Their eyes both shot open in unison, realizing what he’d just said. There was no taking it back and part of Dean was thankful, feeling like a weight had been lifted from his shoulders. She lifted her head to look down at him, her usually dull eyes shining as they studied his green ones. She only paused a beat before she crushed her lips into his. His eyes shut tightly at the impact, but he returned the kiss with equal zeal.

Thoughts that he was taking advantage of her shot around in his head and he battled with them while she pressed kisses all over his face. She was a little off kilter, but then again, so was he. Besides, she had brought a random back to the motel on more than one occasion over the past couple years. She straddled and sat up in his lap. “Stop thinking so much, Dean. I want this, don’t you?”

He nodded furiously up at her and she set back to work, yanking off her own tank top before starting on his clothes. He helped her clumsily and together they undressed each other. The jeans she wore slipped down her thin legs without being unbuttoned. She felt self-conscious for the first time in her life, her body seemed laughable next to Dean’s. She was able to push the thought away, loving the way he tore at their clothes until they were both naked, kneeling on top of the covers. She scooted forward and as she did he grabbed her hips and pulled her body flush against his. He sighed at the feel of her skin rubbing against his quickly hardening member, as boney as her body may be her skin made up for it in smoothness. He pressed his chest against hers, one hand splayed over her bare back, the other tucking her wild hair behind her ear.

Dean leaned back until he fell against the pillows pulling her with him before flipping them over so that she was under him. He peppered wet kisses along her jawbone eventually traveling down her neck where they became soft nips at her skin. She whimpered impatiently, craning her neck to give him better access, wanting more. Her eagerness spurred him on as he continued kissing his way down her body. He paused over each of her breasts, flicking his tongue over her nipples until they flushed deep pink. She shivered with pleasure as he massaged the small mounds in his callused hands before continuing downward. His tongue trailed over her skin hurriedly but still not fast enough for her. She buried her hands in his hair before pushing him roughly down, sighing out her relief when his mouth finally reached its destination.

He wasted no time teasing and had her writhing under his ministrations almost immediately. He lapped at her hungrily, the sweet taste of her making his mouth water. One hand spread her open before him as the fingers of the other hand played at her wet entrance. He lightly traced his tongue up her slit and when he flicked it over her engorged clit, she had had enough. Hands still in his hair, he cried out when she yanked his face away by it.

“Dean, I need it now.” The desperation in her voice made his throat tight and he took his cock in hand as he crawled up her body. She arched towards him fervently, anxious to feel him. He rubbed himself against her wetness just once before plunging into her fully, keen to give her what she needed. They moaned in harmony when they joined. She ground against him, encouraging him to move and he quickly set into a fast pace. The air in the room was electric with their urgency, their panting and the sound of their damp skin slapping the only sounds. This wasn’t love making. This was all teeth, and hair pulling, and nails scraping skin.

When she felt her muscles beginning to tighten she reached between them, fingers intent on finding her clit, only to have her hand slapped away roughly. Dean sat up on his knees, before pulling her hips up with him and pressing his own rough fingers to her nub. He pounded into her roughly, watching her small breasts bounce with his thrusts. He struggled to keep it together, jaw clamped with the effort, as he watched her come undone, gushing and spasming on his cock, before he lost his rhythm. He fell forward, weight supported on his elbows, and kissed her roughly as he bucked ungracefully into her. She wrapped her legs around him and pulled him closer, tugging gently at his hair as he pressed his face into her neck. She groaned softly at the sound his shuddering sighs and reveled in the feel of his trembling release inside her.

He pulled out of her and laid down, still partially on top of her but careful not to crush her small body. She kept her arms around him, pressing his head into her chest as she stroked his hair. She was all but cradling him and he felt oddly like she trying to comfort him. But he enjoyed being in her embrace and before long he felt sleep creeping up on him.

She felt him nuzzle his nose against her neck and she felt the cornered of her mouth turn up without being forced. His breathing was deep now and she barely heard him mumble sleepily, “I really do love you.”

The last thing he remembered before he drifted off was her soft lips brushing over his stubbled cheek and whispering a very unsatisfying, “I know, Dean. I know.”


End file.
